H Bosche

As life teeters towards some vision of a Hieronymus Bosch painting (probably the Garden of Earthy Delights as found in the Prado Madrid) Scott and I are both sullen in the pub getting over our separate hangovers and fearing being burnt alive Bosch style for believing in Rationality and at least a bleary version of the Great Enlightenment Project.

According to the Governor of the Bank of England, the banks are in for another crash because they can't do anything about what they are doing, meanwhile Saudi Arabia (Saudi Arabia!!) is suddenly on the brink of disaster. This cannot happen, we cannot have lots of revolutionary governments all across the Middle East making it up as they go on, or will we? There is some trembling of the knees in the Trench. It will be worse than '29, it will be worse than '14.

Julie and I have to go to a party tonight. I don't want to go, I never want to go, parties appall me and I'll have to get drunk beforehand (which disturbs the potential quiet of the day) there is the spectre of the bloody party at all times to be dealt with, no matter how nice the people who will be there.